Hello and welcome back...now this one is a little different but I hope you like it all the same...xx


It was three in the morning when Sherlock lifted his sleepy head from his pillow at the sound of his phone vibrating against the bedside table. Running a hand over his face and through his tousled hair, Sherlock yawned and reached for the item; his eyes burned from the light emanating from it.

You should know, your arse would look really good in jeans. You should wear them. I wanna see. Touch. Would be nice. Very sexy. Good night, Sherlock. Mollyx

Molly is certainly enjoying her night off. Sherlock nodded once and allowed his head to drop his back onto the pillow; he fell back to sleep almost immediately.


Molly groaned, massaging her head as she placed an aspirin into her mouth followed by a large gulp of water. She had to emerge from the lockers sooner or later but the white and silver of her morgue was just too much; that was the last time she'd allow Mary to persuade her to go on a night out when she had work the next day. She slammed her locker shut, the noise making her groan and made her way back into her cool and, thankfully, quiet morgue. She rolled her eyes as much as she could when she found Sherlock and John bent over the body, muttering to each other.

"Ah, Molly," Sherlock raised an eyebrow when the small pathologist winced; his usually sensual, deep voice was far too much in her hungover state, "...something wrong?"

"No, just a headache...that's all," she smiled, brushing her hair from her eyes; she had only managed to pull it into a loose ponytail that morning. Sherlock narrowed his eyes disbelievingly, brushing his Belstaff aside to stuff his hands in the pockets of his faded black jeans. Molly was rubbing her eyes as she spoke, "...what can I do for you, today?"

"Um...I just needed to see his wrists," Sherlock looked confused as Molly yawned, nodding and approaching them; she hardly looked at him, "...his wife mentioned he wore his favourite watch all the time. Did he have it before you started?"

"No...I didn't see it," she shook her head gently and Sherlock fidgeted on the spot, the Belstaff shifting; John raised his eyebrows at his friend before turning back to Molly who was scratching her head, "so, this was a robbery that went wrong?"

"According to his wife, the watch was priceless..." Sherlock was watching her suspiciously, as if expecting her to say something, "I'd say he was murdered for the watch," he brought his hands to ruffle his hair, the Belstaff lifting higher; John frowned at him in confusion. Molly nodded again, her eyelids drooping as she returned the body back to its drawer.

"If you want to use the lab, go ahead...I'll be up shortly...just need a minute," she yawned again and Sherlock deflated, nodding acceptingly. He began strolling away more confidently than he felt with John following when Molly spoke again, "...oh, I almost forgot!"

"Yes?" The detective whirled with a hopeful expression but Molly waved a hand in their direction.

"Mary was down earlier, she's working late tonight and will be home later," Molly smiled sympathetically when John sighed, slumping his shoulders.

"Never mind...I'll leave her dinner in the microwave, thanks Molly," John was grinning at his ex-flatmate who was biting his lip; he had sounded far too eager when he assumed Molly was going to say something about his new item of clothing.


John was still grinning in that stupid knowing way of his when they reached the lab and Sherlock gritted his teeth, turning to face the irritating doctor slowly.

"What?"

"Molly sent you a drunk text last night, didn't she?" Sherlock rolled his shoulders, choosing not to meet John's direct gaze; the army doctor sniggered and withdrew his phone, "Mary was giving me a running commentary of their night out last night. She had a little bit too much, too..." he explained, extending the hand his phone was clasped in, "do you want to read? They're all about what Molly thinks of you, after all."

"Why would I want to read it?" The detective snapped, snatching the phone with a scowl. John folded his arms and waited for his friend's reaction.

If I have to hear one more lengthy description of how hot Sherlock is, you'll both soon be solving Molly's murder. MWxx

Did you know that Molly wants to ride Sherlock harder than the rollercoaster at Alton Towers? Neither did I but how do you ride a rollercoaster hard? I'm hungry MWxx

John, save me...she keeps going on about his hair...and his voice...and his descriptive analysis of sciencey stuff...oh, and she wants to see his arse in jeans or something. MWxx

I love you so much. I'll be home soon and then we'll-

"Oh, yeah...don't read the last one...it's, uh, not about Molly..." John hastily retrieved his phone from the extremely blushing detective, his own reddening cheeks developing. John cleared his throat as they moved into the familiar lab room, "...quite something, isn't it?"

"Yes...she has never been one for drinking. This...isn't the first time this has happened," he shook off his coat and slipped into a stool. John raised an eyebrow; he was certainly unaware Sherlock had received saucy, inebriated messages from the pathologist before.

"Oh? When was the last time?"

"Uh...your wedding night," he was pursing his lip, shuffling against the microscope. John tilted his head as Sherlock delicately fiddled with the microscope dials despite not having a slide underneath, "...she didn't text me, then. She told me to my face."

"When?" John narrowed his eyes suspiciously and Sherlock swallowed audibly, pressing himself tighter into the microscope.

"After you dismissed the guests...I...walked her to her hotel room...she told me at the door," he almost whispered, glowing red; John had never seen him blush before.

"Whoa...well, what did you say?"

"Nothing," Sherlock swallowed once more and took a deep breath, "...I kissed her."

"What?" John's eyes widened in surprise, even more so when Sherlock simply nodded, abandoning the sample-less microscope to watch his friend. John rubbed the back of his neck, "...oh, then what?"

"We slept together," Sherlock shrugged, "we must have done. Our clothes were everywhere, the room was a mess, we were both lying very close in bed naked-"

"Ok, too much information...well, you two seem pretty...normal...about it..." he attempted to sound as though this piece of information wasn't the most shocking he'd ever heard.

"She doesn't remember...I woke up first, straightened the room and left her with a cup of water and an aspirin," he bit his lip and lowered his voice, "...it wasn't an aspirin. It was a morning after pill..."

"You didn't even tell her!" John shouted, clapping a hand to his mouth when Sherlock gestured frantically; a few lab technicians paused with their studies to listen. The detective gritted his teeth, lowering his voice to a low mutter.

"No, I didn't want the inevitable 'what now?' conversation that would have followed..." he glanced behind him and ruffled his hair; he turned back to find John's eyes still wide with shock, his arms folded and back braced against the metal bench, "I must admit...waking up next to Molly that morning, I felt peaceful and relaxed. I just held her for a while...it was right. I didn't know how to tell her...so I left...she was none the wiser."

"That's...really sentimental of you, Sherlock, even if leaving her was a stupid thing to do," John rolled his eyes as Sherlock grimaced, nodding in defeat. He released a deep sigh, finally coming to terms with Sherlock's softer side, "...it's nice to know you didn't regret it..."

"I cannot stop thinking about it, John," Sherlock had clenched his fists and was shaking his head; he looked like a desperate man on the edge, "...how it must have been, what it must have felt like...how it must have sounded..."

"How what must have sounded?" Molly asked, looking much more fresh-faced as she strolled over to them, clutching a coffee in her hands. Both Sherlock and John jumped, eyeing the swift pathologist nervously.

"Ah...well, the gunshot that finished off Mr. Hughes," John nodded and Sherlock frowned; Mr. Hughes, their murder-robbery victim, was stabbed to death. Molly tilted her head in confusion.

"But, he was-"

"Coffee...good hangover cure," Sherlock smiled, nodding at her coffee; thankfully, this did the trick. Molly couldn't resist his genuine smile and blushed down into her coffee cup.

"Yeah...I'm never drinking again when I've got work the next day," she chuckled softly before bringing her gaze to meet his eyes, "...how did you know I was hungover?"

With a quick glance at John, Sherlock swallowed, "...it is not a difficult leap. Your eyes are bloodshot, you are pale, naturally avoiding bright lights and loud sounds." He finished with a shrug and Molly rolled her eyes. I should have guessed.


It was late when Molly finally looked up from her examinations; Sherlock was pacing up and down the lab in long strides, glancing at the pathologist from the corner of his eye. John was glaring at the detective furiously, silently begging Molly to notice his damn jeans...or rather, what was in them. He decided enough was enough and withdrew his phone.

For God's sake, notice his bloody jeans. He's been parading in front of you for ages now. Check your sent messages and then Mr. Holmes' current attire. Try and convince me it's a coincidence. JW

Molly looked up from her phone to find John winking encouragingly; she bit her lip as she examined her sent text history, gasping in horror when she noticed a text to Sherlock at 3:00am. She buried her face in her hands, glancing up when John cleared his throat; she followed his eyes to Sherlock, who was now leaning over the bench on front of her...the jeans very much on display.

Your arse would look really good in jeans

Try and convince me it's a coincidence

Molly jumped to her feet and scurried from the lab like a frightened mouse; Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her as she left.

"Where has she gone?"

"Hopefully, to come to her senses," John grinned, before muttering to himself, "...surely one of you has to."


"Did you really think I didn't know we'd already slept together, Sherlock Holmes?" Molly had stormed into the lab, brandishing her phone wildly when Sherlock and John were preparing to leave; the detective glared accusingly at the wide-eyed army doctor for a moment until the pathologist stopped in front of them, "...I felt you snuggling me before you buggered off!"

"Molly, I-"

"You left your tie in the room...it was around my neck, in case you were wondering," she fumed, poking him hard in the chest; several of the lab technicians who remained were silently sniggering over their examinations and John wished he hadn't heard the last statement. Sherlock looked just as shocked as John; that was the marvellous thing about Molly...she was a mystery.

"Oh..." he shook his head, frowning as he came to his senses, "...you didn't mention anything either. You let me leave without a word!"

"Yeah because I thought it meant nothing to-"

"I am wearing these horrible, scratchy jeans for you, woman...you can't expect me to do everything. I'd give anything for a repeat of that night. Only with my memory intact," he added truthfully; John was blinking rapidly, unable to believe what had just happened. Sherlock looked pleased with himself for Molly was opening and closing her mouth quickly.

"Oh, you..." she bit her smile back and met his enthralling blue gaze, "well, you asked for it but I'm warning you, if you leave before making me breakfast this time, you're in trouble," she giggled, seizing his hand and pulling him eagerly towards the door. John opened his mouth but Sherlock's deeper than usual voice beat him to it.

"I'm not likely to leave my own flat now, Molly..." they hurried away leaving John standing in the middle of the lab, mouth wide open and mind whirling. He even scratched in confusion before shaking his head and checking his watch; it was high time he returned home to his wife.


It was nearly midnight when Sherlock and Molly arrived at Baker Street for a thorough re-enactment of the night they had missed out on...and it all immediately came flooding back to them.

"Ooh, I think...I'm starting to...remember..." Molly panted, glancing around the dimly lit bedroom of the man currently biting and scraping his teeth along her shoulders and throat, "the clothes everywhere-"

"Your clothes," Sherlock reminded since his purple shirt was hanging halfway down his shoulders and rested at his elbows, the buttons partially torn and scattered and his jeans - Molly was more than insistent he keep them on - were askew.

"Yeah, well..." she was silenced by another moan; Sherlock's rough hands were not gentle at her thighs. Then again, she wasn't exactly gentle with her fingers in his hair and along his toned muscles, "mmm...I don't...think you did...that last time..." Molly chuckled, moaning at the sensation of Sherlock's tongue tracing over her throat. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, lifting his head and displaying his swollen lips and wild curls.

"No but...I will from...now on..."

He smirked devilishly, stealing a deep kiss before dropping his head back to her chest; his hands were busy at her thighs whilst hers ran over his well-toned back under his shirt. Her nails brushed and scraped along effortlessly and Molly savoured the sounds falling freely from his lips. Molly trailed her hands down to bury in the back pockets of his black jeans, biting her lip in satisfaction.

"I was right...looks good...feels good...so good..." she pulled him tighter to her, gasping in delight at the sensation. Sherlock smirked, nipping a trail down her body as far as he could reach.

"I'll keep them around, then."

It was amazing that these very words started a frequent tradition between Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper...


Oh, Sherlock...*sigh* Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter :D More on the way if you want it ;) xx Stay tuned, back soon xx